tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-229224782015-02-28T13:15:28.629+00:00Random Distractions"At every step you make me digress;
today I do not know whither I am destined."
(Tagore)monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.comBlogger754125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-25915239779705087232015-02-05T20:59:00.003+00:002015-02-05T20:59:35.134+00:00The Book Group<h4><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The first meeting </span></h4><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I have read many hundreds of books but never belonged to a reading group. I'm not a belonging-to-a-group sort of person, really. I like to get on with things in my own quiet way. However, when I saw the list of groups on offer in the newly formed U3A (University of the Third Age) in the village, I decided to sign up for a book group as well as gardening, craft, genealogy, local history and strolling (as distinct from walking and rambling).</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I went along to the first meeting in the local library not really knowing what to expect.There were five of us, ranging in age from late sixties to mid-eighties, plus Rowena, the convener of the group. She had emailed each of us, asking us to be prepared to speak briefly about a book of our choice as we hadn't yet been issued with a group book.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The first person to introduce her book had chosen Rose Tremain's <i><b>Merivel: A Man of His Time</b></i>. Unfortunately, she misunderstood the request to speak briefly and gave a detailed description of background, plot, character and style, reading long passages to illustrate her points. This took up so much of our hour that there was little time for the rest of us to speak and no time at all for discussion. Among the other books chosen were <i><b>Wolf Hall</b></i> and <i><b>Bring up the Bodies</b></i> by Hilary Mantel and <b>Daughter's-in-Law</b> by Joanna Trollope. I had chosen one of my favourite comfort reads for the depth's of winter: Elizabeth von Arnim's <i><b>The Enchanted April. </b></i>I was greatly surprised to find that no-one else had heard of the book or the author. I tried to keep an open mind about the company I was about to keep!</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Rowena then indicated a pile of extremely large books on a side table - veritable tomes! These were our copies of the first group book.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kw_EkaHsPd0/VNFtnoOGHVI/AAAAAAAAHk4/Q35b7qxrlTc/s1600/the%2Bluminaries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kw_EkaHsPd0/VNFtnoOGHVI/AAAAAAAAHk4/Q35b7qxrlTc/s1600/the%2Bluminaries.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The response was interesting. Margaret grunted, "I'm not reading that!" Kay, who has severe arthritis in her hands said, "I can't carry that to my car." The rest of us were struck speechless at the thought of getting through more than 800 pages over the Christmas period with family and friends arriving any day but we picked up our books and headed for home. The only male member of the group proved to be a perfect gentleman and carried Kay's book to the car park for her; I have no doubt that lugging two copies of <i><b>The Luminaries </b></i>half way across the village should earn him a knighthood.</span><br /><h4><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The book</span></h4><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">(Warning - spoiler ahead!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><i><b>The Luminaries </b></i>by Eleanor Catton was published by Granta in 2013 and won the Man Booker Prize that year. It is 832 pages long and a heavy, cumbersome book to handle. Not one for reading on the beach or the train.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">My first impression was that it was a historical novel with a murder mystery at its heart. The story is set in 1866 in the goldfields of New Zealand. The syntax, clothing,setting and dialogue are all appropriately Victorian and I settled down to a "sensation novel" in the style of Wilkie Collins. I soon discovered that this atmosphere, like everything in the book, changes as the story progresses.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I realised very early in the first chapter that this was to be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shaggy_dog_story" target="_blank">a shaggy dog story</a>. However, it is a beautifully crafted one, a well-written and compelling page-turner. Even though I realised that Ms Catton was making a fool of me, I reluctantly admired her audacity and skill.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This might easily have been a historical novel: there is plenty of authentic detail about life in the gold rush; it could equally have been a murder mystery but the circular and contradictory nature of the investigations rules that out. It has intrigue, double-dealing, mysterious deaths, prostitution, drugs and even a little romance but all of these threads are so interwoven and unfinished that it becomes obvious that it isn't a book with a plot at all.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">There are lots of prominent characters in the story. Each is introduced in great detail and each has a story to tell and yet we can't get to grips with any of them. Each revelation means that we know them less well than the last time we encountered them. So, it isn't a book about characters or character. In most novels, the characters develop but in <i><b>The Luminaries</b></i>, they unravel.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The more I read, the less I knew or understood. The astrological tables, the detailed historical and geographical setting, the complex characters and the intricate plot all end in insignificance. In the end the plot slips away and neither the characters nor the events matter. Nothing has any substance. </span><br /><br /><h4><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The Discussion</span></h4><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">When we met at the beginning of January, the discussion was very lively. Margaret, true to her threat, hadn't read the book at all. Kay had found it very difficult to physically handle the book because of its size and weight but had persevered. Two new members, joined us, a married couple who had read the book together and had spent a lot of time on the Internet checking up on the facts presented in the story; their most interesting discovery came from putting some of the pieces of Chinese and Maori dialogue into an on line translator and finding they were utter nonsense.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Several people believed that they had read a murder mystery and were satisfied that it all made sense in the end. Most felt as I did, that a very talented writer had used her considerable skills to produce an elaborate spoof. She won the Man Booker prize; it would be fitting if they had paid her in fool's gold. </span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-16615552513455653402015-01-29T10:54:00.002+00:002015-01-29T10:54:17.015+00:00The last thing on my mindDays slipped into weeks then into months and now a whole year has passed since my last post on Random Distractions. Here we are in the midst of wintry weather and that was the thing on my mind when I last wrote.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0_OFQzea_Ks" width="420"></iframe><br /><br />I can't claim&nbsp; excuses of going off to war, being forced to leave my home or even going on holiday for my absence but some explanation is required. The early months of last year were filled with hospital visits as my husband had major surgery on his spine. The hospital is 70 miles away so the outpatient visits took whole days and I had to take up residence in the city while he had his surgery. That took care of several months, when writing really was the last thing on my mind. I'm afraid that the longer I stayed away from the keyboard the harder it became to get back to it and lo, a year has passed!<br /><br /><i><b>I fear I have probably lost all of my old friends but, just in case anyone still looks in, here is a huge apology for going away with no word of farewell. </b></i><br /><br />So, what does 2015 have in store? Top of my wishlist is good health for all my family and friends. I'm delighted to say that my husband is mobile again - no crutches or sticks but no more 5 mile walks before breakfast. That doesn't mean that I see more of him, however, as he used to set off at dawn every morning and would be home again before I woke. Nowadays he has to content himself with a couple of hours studying languages: stretching his mind instead of his legs.<br /><br />Speaking of stretching minds, our village has just set up a branch of the University of the Third Age (U3A) and we are both very busy developing new skills and practising old ones. All that language study is coming in useful&nbsp; for the MM as he is leading groups in French, German and Spanish. I have joined a book group (more of that another day) and genealogy, gardening and craft groups. We have both joined the "strolling group" as the walking and long-walking groups are beyond our current competence. It is all very exciting and we have met dozens of people. The dullest village in England has suddenly become extremely interesting. And that just as we are about to leave!<br /><br />Yes, after several years of thinking and talking about it, we have decided to leave Devon and move to the Oxford area to be close to our lovely daughter and grandchildren. We will also be much closer than at present to our son and his family. We will all miss the sea and sand but we wil have beautiful countryside instead. Now we are busy decluttering and doing all those little repair jobs that have been put off over the 25 years we have lived in this house. I will miss my garden but I am looking forward to finding a modern easy to care for house. Eighteenth century cottages are full of character but also&nbsp; full of problems, usually very expensive to fix.<br /><br />I'll be back soon with reports on my recent reading for the U3A book group. I hope this reaches someone but a comment or two would probably be more than I deserve. Still, here's hoping.monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-5225956003884773832014-02-09T06:54:00.001+00:002014-02-09T06:55:49.644+00:00Stormy weatherMy posts about Devon usually boast photos of sandy beaches, stunning coastline and sun-drenched cottage gardens. Unfortunately, like much of the rest of southern England, we are having a tough winter and we are all wondering if things will ever be the same again. <br /><br />The wet weather started in December and, apart from a few brief bright spells, it has gone on and on and on with no end in sight. As well as the never-ending rain, we are currently experiencing storms and high tides here on the coast. Our beaches are being swept away, our rail link to the rest of England has been cut off, seafront homes and businesses are being destroyed while further inland, farms and villages are suffering badly. Here is a clip from an ITV news report showing some of the damage:<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ZXQmOxMOOSs?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />I wonder if Ikea make a flatpack ark?<br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-42625658299709443052014-01-09T13:17:00.001+00:002014-01-09T13:17:45.971+00:00January reflectionsBelated New Year greetings to all. I had intended posting this piece earlier but I saw that my son had introduced his New Year post on The Dabbler with allusions to Janus, just as&nbsp; was intending to do here. Now that his post is history, I've decided to use mine!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CJ5se2N37AA/Us6Md89Sh8I/AAAAAAAAF58/ZNjCWXTbPHQ/s1600/Janus.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CJ5se2N37AA/Us6Md89Sh8I/AAAAAAAAF58/ZNjCWXTbPHQ/s1600/Janus.png" height="281" width="320" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Many people find January a gloomy and depressing month but I like the opportunity to look back and towards the future at the same time.&nbsp; The New Year isn't so much a time for making Resolutions, (pie-crust promises as Mary Poppins might say),&nbsp; as for getting things into perspective.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For many years, January was a sad month for us: my father died on January second; a few years later my younger sister, barely thirty years old, died on January twenty-third and, just a few years later, my mother died on January twenty-fourth. I used to dread the coming of January with its feelings of loss and grief and I couldn't bear New Year celebrations. As time has passed, though, happy memories have taken precedence and I find it is good to have this specific time in the year when I look back on the lives of my parents and sister and recall all the positive aspects of their lives. My brother and older sister and I share funny stories from our childhood - there is nothing like laughter to put things into perspective: it overwhelms sadness just as light overwhelms darkness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I always think of Janus on January 23rd. Not only is it the anniversary of my sister's death but also the day on which I twice had life-saving surgery, the same day in consecutive years. As anyone who is "in remission" knows, there is always an element of fear as check-ups and anniversaries approach but the image of Janus reminds me that each year I have further to look back on; years filled now with precious memories. Hope, like laughter, is a powerful antidote to gloom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">-----------------------------------</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbhXHTSAiIs/Us6WP_sVwHI/AAAAAAAAF6M/lsneHdCods8/s1600/diaries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbhXHTSAiIs/Us6WP_sVwHI/AAAAAAAAF6M/lsneHdCods8/s1600/diaries.jpg" /></a></div>I'm going to invent a new word and describe the opening of a new diary as Janusistic. I sit with last year's diary and transfer significant dates to the new one, then I take out all the appointment cards that I've kept in the back of the old one while waiting for the new one to arrive.&nbsp; What an opportunity to practise saying, "Goodness, is it so long since ......." at the same time, recognising that the teeth, feet, eyes and ears are all another year older!<br /><br />Filling in the dental appointments is the task I like least.&nbsp; I think of all the money I pay to be tortured! Not by my lovely dentist, I must hasten to say, but by the hygienist who offers spurious excuses for the agonising scraping and poking at my poor ivories and gums; it takes days for me to recover. On a brighter note, the waiting room always has tubs of sample tubes of different toothpastes. I like to pick up a few as they are the perfect size for overnight or weekend visits. One such sample intrigued me: the manufacturer noted the herbal ingredients and stated that many people found that, after using the toothpaste for14 days,&nbsp; they quite liked it. I don't know which PR firm they employ.<br /><div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;">&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;">It was 6 January 1989 when we moved from Hampshire to Devon. Looking back over the 25 years that we have lived in this house, we see many changes. We arrived here with a young son and daughter, they are now grown&nbsp; with children of their own. The quiet village has grown into a busy thoroughfare, taking traffic to the beaches. We have been talking about leaving for several years and perhaps 2014 will see that happen. The great de-clutter has begun! Grandchildren Millie and Ben are very keen to have us move close to them, in fact so close that they want to build a house for us in their garden. They spent hours designing the ideal home for us:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LPqD_DhP-ns/Us6fqpl2kLI/AAAAAAAAF6c/Lry226-EX2Y/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LPqD_DhP-ns/Us6fqpl2kLI/AAAAAAAAF6c/Lry226-EX2Y/s1600/001.jpg" height="290" width="400" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: left;">It is a house with many doors and windows. Ben chose the shapes and colours, Millie did the drawing. There are enough rooms for us to entertain everyone we know. I can't wait to get there!</div><div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;">I know that the weather is a real problem for many people, this January but I hope that the freezing conditions in US and the floods in UK will soon be over and that everyone has a good year ahead.</div>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-66791237266825026492013-12-22T12:10:00.000+00:002013-12-22T12:10:37.812+00:00Christmas GreetingsVery best wishes for Christmas and the New Year to all!&nbsp; I hope you will enjoy this selection of carols from King's College, Cambridge.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7HItFqKBAQE?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-30406591584817313732013-12-10T12:05:00.000+00:002013-12-10T12:05:45.744+00:00Surprise!I couldn't let the year end without one last attempt to write something here. Life does have a tendency to get in the way of reading and writing blogs these days.&nbsp; My fingers have been busy making and baking rather than typing.<br /><br />My mother and two sisters were really good at creating lovely things to wear, while I spent hours unpicking my uneven seams and dipping hems. My attempts usually ended in the dustbin or rag bag. It has taken the advent of grandchildren to get me to take up a needle again and nowadays I even use a sewing machine!<br /><br />It all began with little quilts for cots and then aprons for toddlers and now I am responding to requests for dressing up outfits. This year the children will be snow leopards and cheetahs in these outfits:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2IKk-TdoAQo/Uqauvhn7oCI/AAAAAAAAF5U/qBSDf7pOxAY/s1600/PC020803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2IKk-TdoAQo/Uqauvhn7oCI/AAAAAAAAF5U/qBSDf7pOxAY/s400/PC020803.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I'm sure they will look better with children inside.<br /><br />Then they all needed sweaters and hats; here are just a few:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EzVACwft668/UqavvYMgr1I/AAAAAAAAF5c/0bDy34UkC7E/s1600/PC020800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EzVACwft668/UqavvYMgr1I/AAAAAAAAF5c/0bDy34UkC7E/s320/PC020800.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />and Ben wants to be a Jedi knight so I made him a robe:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PIoRmoThjNE/Uqav1ZKxFDI/AAAAAAAAF5o/AzeVlsVU1hw/s1600/PC070805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PIoRmoThjNE/Uqav1ZKxFDI/AAAAAAAAF5o/AzeVlsVU1hw/s320/PC070805.JPG" width="189" /></a></div><br />One of my friends had enough confidence in my new-found sewing skills to commission some aprons to give as Christmas presents for her teenage daughter and friends. Cupcakes galore and a smarter one for herself.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A0ta386Z5JQ/Uqav61AQVYI/AAAAAAAAF5w/GAJYmSzxzXo/s1600/PC020802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A0ta386Z5JQ/Uqav61AQVYI/AAAAAAAAF5w/GAJYmSzxzXo/s320/PC020802.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />I've made candles and cakes, mince pies and cookies and today will be chocolate-making day. How I wish my mother could see me now!&nbsp; Each success I've had has boosted my confidence and I think I would probably have a go at any new challenge now. It is lovely to surprise others and even better to surprise myself.&nbsp; Perhaps my next challenge should be to get back to blogging regularly in the New Year, now that <i>would</i> surprise you!monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-84851276876937073252013-10-13T06:16:00.000+01:002013-10-13T06:16:12.371+01:00How to win friends<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">When we moved to the countryside from the city, twenty-five years ago, we were struck by the open friendliness of people. Passers-by would nod or smile, shopkeepers would chat and neighbours quickly became friends. There has been a gradual change: village life is drawing ever-closer to city life. Now,&nbsp; bumping into people in the village has taken on a literal meaning as they walk along reading and sending text messages. There is no need to stop for a chat or to seek out the local gossip since the most private of affairs are bellowed into mobile phones for everyone to hear.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I, however, have found a way of grabbing attention.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DMJOq-hK0oE/UlokRd-tdPI/AAAAAAAAF3Y/VicXP1orjZY/s1600/20131011_164620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DMJOq-hK0oE/UlokRd-tdPI/AAAAAAAAF3Y/VicXP1orjZY/s320/20131011_164620.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Meet Ruby, a twelve week old cocker spaniel who belongs to my friend, Dr P.&nbsp; I look after her on Fridays while Dr P is on duty. When Ruby and I go out for a walk, everyone stops to admire her and to talk doggy-talk. We have made friends with a whole range of people from babies to octogenarians; even teenagers have put their mobile phones in their pockets in order to pet Ruby.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This experience reminds me of walking around Hampstead, pushing my first grandchild in her pram. People would smile fondly at her if she was laughing or sleeping and sympathetically at me if she was crying. Shop assistants would chat about their own babies or grandchildren. London seemed a very friendly place.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I wonder why we need the excuse of a baby or a puppy to make contact with strangers? Is it just because we are English or is this a universal trait? Were we friendlier in the past or is that my imagination?&nbsp; A friend came to visit us yesterday. He recently retired and is having a wonderful time travelling around England's canals on his narrow boat. He said that people will wave from the towpath, offer to help with the locks, walk alongside the slowly moving boat and chat about boating and life in general. But..... when he moors the boat and walks to the pub or the local shop he becomes a stranger again and is totally ignored.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Maybe a puppy, a baby or a boat is a kind of visibility cloak, temporarily singling us out as interesting or perhaps "safe" people to speak to</span>. <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Whatever the reason, I am enjoying Fridays in the park with Ruby.</span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-32102590829661178922013-10-07T13:18:00.000+01:002013-10-07T13:18:35.652+01:00An aversion overcome<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">As a child, I spent several long periods in hospital. In those days (the late 1940s and early 50s), children's wards were not the bright, friendly places that they are today. There was a rigorous discipline; we were not allowed to get out of bed, even when feeling well, books were allowed but no toys and smacks were administered by the stern ward sister if we dared to untidy our beds. I grew to understand that some of the less pleasant procedures were actually intended for my benefit and not my torment but not all of the scars left by those hospital experiences are physical.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">One aftereffect, which will probably sound trivial to many, was an aversion to porridge. I think I would go so far as to say an abhorrance of porridge. In hospitals today, even child&nbsp; patients are given a menu to choose from but we were given a plate of food and told to eat it and there was no question of leaving a scrap. We were not fussy children; it was, after all, a time of food rationing and we were all used to plain fare. I have no memory of any meals other than breakfast so the rest must have been acceptable. The breakfast trolley, however, brought dread! The nurse took a thick,white cup, the kind that used to be used in railway refreshment rooms </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JrrOpMU0eso/UlKhALrWQLI/AAAAAAAAF3I/MVqDqJIJUHU/s1600/railway+cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JrrOpMU0eso/UlKhALrWQLI/AAAAAAAAF3I/MVqDqJIJUHU/s1600/railway+cup.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">dipped it into a large bowl and drew out a portion of a brown, lumpy, glutinous mess. I can see it now, dripping down the sides of the&nbsp; cup as she poured it into my bowl. No jam, sugar, honey or fruit, not even a little salt to add flavour. Having to get through this every day was undoubtedly good training for convent school dinners, where the same discipline was applied. But, from the last day of my stay in hospital as a seven year old until yesterday, porridge has never passed my lips. When my children were babies, I had to put a peg on my nose and close my eyes while I was making their far lovelier porridge. The smell and sight of porridge, even the sight of an innocent thick, white cup could set my stomach churning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I went to the supermarket on Saturday and, as I reached for my usual pack of cereal, I thought how foolish it was to be controlled by a memory. I have avoided eating a nutritious food for sixty years, was I to be a wimp forever? With a very deep breath, I reached for a pack of fruity porridge, plain oats was a step too far. I ate my first bowl of porridge yesterday and I had another this morning. Yes, I have to steel mysef to make it but today was easier than yesterday and, who knows, tomorrow I might even enjoy it!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This picture is from <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/10148594/How-a-bowl-of-porridge-transformed-mankind.html" target="_blank">an article</a> that tells how porridge changed mankind. I don't like to think of what I might have missed out on all those years. </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wH4EYmHZt3w/UlKgcEJ6e9I/AAAAAAAAF3E/ydfWzz2u1Dw/s1600/PORRIDGE_2603122b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wH4EYmHZt3w/UlKgcEJ6e9I/AAAAAAAAF3E/ydfWzz2u1Dw/s320/PORRIDGE_2603122b.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">What irrational aversions do you have?</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-72418575077647414272013-09-21T09:12:00.000+01:002013-09-21T09:12:18.600+01:00Harvest time<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This evening, we will be holding our Harvest Thanksgiving service. I made the harvest loaf last year and I was asked to do it again so I spent yesterday morning happily rolling and pulling dough to produce this:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7wcmQ8PvVlw/Uj1SpmTzHkI/AAAAAAAAF2o/zRFa0AhLYCA/s1600/P9210771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7wcmQ8PvVlw/Uj1SpmTzHkI/AAAAAAAAF2o/zRFa0AhLYCA/s320/P9210771.JPG" width="205" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I will have a basket of homegrown goodies to take, too, unlike last year when I had to buy everything from the greengrocer. I have&nbsp; a good crop of potatoes, tomatoes, aubergine and sweetcorn to take and there may even be a few raspberries left if the birds don't beat me to them. I love this opportunity to bring the summer to a fitting close.</span><br /><h2 class="title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">! ! Harvest Festival</span></span></h2><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><div style="margin-top: 20px; min-height: 570px; text-align: center;"> <div class="KonaBody"> <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> When on a glorious day – one such as this – <br />you’re overcome with awe and wonder, praise, <br />and part-formed gratitude… which seeks some one <br />to thank for this, by laying at their feet <br />all that the world has brought us unannounced <br />as seedcorn turned to golden harvest wheat – <br /><br />then who would hesitate, to draw in light <br />a greater One as whom to kneel before, <br />to make of our humility, a ‘One’ <br />as if we were some grateful ‘other’; we, <br />less worthy, painting pure duality.. <br /><br />..don’t hesitate: praise is beyond a ‘two’; <br />what now we praise, becomes our very self; <br />in praise, name radiates as kingdom, come; <br />and kingdom hallows all, as all its own; <br />so, glory in that sound of praise so fine; <br />for when you shine with praise – then all things shine. </span> <br /> </div><div class="poet" itemprop="author"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><b>Michael Shepherd</b></span></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><b>&nbsp;</b></span></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><b>&nbsp;</b></span></div></div>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-71827975091150490062013-09-16T21:30:00.000+01:002013-09-16T21:33:07.273+01:00Away from it all, close to home#2<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The previous post is still there so I am going to be ambitious and add a few photographs to this one.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The farm cottage that we stayed in last week, just 22 miles from home, is one of a small complex of converted barns.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j6OJ_5R9E10/UjcgAojsbYI/AAAAAAAAF08/QIJixVrJvzI/s1600/P9120746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j6OJ_5R9E10/UjcgAojsbYI/AAAAAAAAF08/QIJixVrJvzI/s320/P9120746.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1aNQAZHUJ2s/UjcgIMmhPqI/AAAAAAAAF1E/9ArRtMwxXo0/s1600/P9120747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1aNQAZHUJ2s/UjcgIMmhPqI/AAAAAAAAF1E/9ArRtMwxXo0/s320/P9120747.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">There was a photographic display of the derelict buildings before the work started in 1988 and the progress through the next year to bring them to the current state of luxurious comfort. The grounds are lovingly tended and there are ponds and woods and many interesting walks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Since our main purpose in choosing such a venue was some R and R, we spent a lot of time reading. We had, of course, taken our own books but it is always interesting to see what</span> <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">other people have on their shelves. The dedicated "quiet room" had a wide selection of fiction and non-fiction for all tastes and ages but our cottage also had a full bookcase:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J2UNOnRBinw/UjcnpZBQHSI/AAAAAAAAF1U/vnyWVeIOeCc/s1600/20130912_093005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J2UNOnRBinw/UjcnpZBQHSI/AAAAAAAAF1U/vnyWVeIOeCc/s320/20130912_093005.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I was intrigued when I saw twenty diaries, covering the years 1989 to 2009, on the bottom shelf. I assumed that they were there for us to read and settled down with a cup of tea and the first volume. The entries began in April 1989 with the first guests to stay in the cottage. There was a note from the owner, inviting guests to record their activities during their stay, to tell a little about themselves, to mention places they visited and to recommend pubs and restaurants. It made for fascinating reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">1989 was the year that we moved from Hampshire to Devon. It was an exceptionally warm and dry year; we arrived in January and spent the first few days on the beach instead of unpacking! That summer, like this year's, was glorious and we had lots of visitors to help us explore our new surroundings. Reading the diary entries, I was reminded of that time and the fun we had with our children and their cousins and friends; we were discovering the same places as those written about in the diaries. We always kept journals and scrapbooks, sitting round the table after dinner to write and draw about what we had done during the day.&nbsp; The cottage guests did the same thing - there were entries from different family members who, like us, made recording the day's adventures an adventure in itself.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The first few diaries are quite full with visitors entering wholeheartedly into the exercise of building a history of these refurbished ancient buildings. Then I noticed a gradual decline in the amount that was written and in the number of people who would write anything at all. The 2000s saw fewer and fewer entries and in 2009 the owners must have decided to give up the idea and no more diaries were left with that kindly invitation to add to the records. I was saddened to think of what has been lost to our social history by the lack of interest in writing nowadays. I suppose future generations must look to Facebook and (dare I say it?) blogs to find out about everyday life in the 21st century.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This&nbsp; made me nostalgic for the holidays we recorded when the children were small. I dashed off to get some of the scrapbooks down from the shelf where thay have been undisturbed for quite a few years. I realise how few photos there are, we didn't have digital cameras in those days. We enjoyed doing our own writing and illustrating.(<i>Click on the pictures to see them more clearly)</i></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EPE9Qod6_sY/UjdiKuk-BUI/AAAAAAAAF1o/b-NvUQJ_Ul8/s1600/P9160766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EPE9Qod6_sY/UjdiKuk-BUI/AAAAAAAAF1o/b-NvUQJ_Ul8/s320/P9160766.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">This is a book from a holiday in Cornwall in 1984 when Andrew was 7 and Tanith 4 (and a half!) Andrew wrote about the game we played in the evening:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DaZ6BXnddIM/UjdiKI6GJKI/AAAAAAAAF1s/o9hKHuT0yeU/s1600/P9160764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DaZ6BXnddIM/UjdiKI6GJKI/AAAAAAAAF1s/o9hKHuT0yeU/s400/P9160764.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">and Tanith drew a picture of the game of crazy golf we'd had:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-McSa0dX-ngM/UjdiNYZO4EI/AAAAAAAAF14/9LXpAIUVqQE/s1600/P9160765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-McSa0dX-ngM/UjdiNYZO4EI/AAAAAAAAF14/9LXpAIUVqQE/s320/P9160765.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">One morning, my husband found a dormouse when he was on his early morning run and woke the children to admire it before returning it to the bushes:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pDS3EDLUrBA/UjdmJlpKRtI/AAAAAAAAF2A/aB48lvJe8jE/s1600/P9160767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pDS3EDLUrBA/UjdmJlpKRtI/AAAAAAAAF2A/aB48lvJe8jE/s320/P9160767.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Do you remember those long country walks <a href="http://randomdistractions.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=long+country+walk" target="_blank">I shared with you </a>some time ago?</span> <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">The scrapbook from our Easter holiday in 1986 gives my account of one, alongside&nbsp; my husband's illustration</span>:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gDPMdoIcc64/Ujdn2qal1SI/AAAAAAAAF2Q/5P87IlDA8Go/s1600/P9160770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gDPMdoIcc64/Ujdn2qal1SI/AAAAAAAAF2Q/5P87IlDA8Go/s400/P9160770.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-77RAPq2F68g/Ujdn29AEOKI/AAAAAAAAF2U/cfKq7uRYnkU/s1600/P9160769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-77RAPq2F68g/Ujdn29AEOKI/AAAAAAAAF2U/cfKq7uRYnkU/s400/P9160769.JPG" width="297" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">Now I remember why my son and daughter groan whenever LCWs are suggested! It is good to have these prompts to take us back to happy times. I am grateful to those families who took the trouble to fill in the diaries at Ham Farm, their memories are now part of the history of that time and place.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;"></span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-808624331201383612013-09-11T10:58:00.001+01:002013-09-11T16:34:14.199+01:00The lost post<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I put together a post called <i>Away from it all, close to home</i></span>, <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">yesterday. It appeared on the blog for a few hours and Val left a comment and I responded. Then, somehow it disappeared completely. I spent an hour or so reading all the help, advice and discussions on Blogger but I could not find any way to retrieve a lost post. Sorry, Val and sorry Dewena for your fruitless efforts. I'm going to write a little post now and hope this one stays put!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">It has been a very lovely but also very busy summer.&nbsp; We have had many visitors:19 in all but, I'm pleased to say, not all at once. The house has been filled with fun and laughter</span>, <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">a welcome distraction</span> <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">from the anxious waiting for my husband's test results. (Thank you for the messages and enquiries, it has taken a long time but the worst case scenario has now been ruled out but spinal surgery is required.</span>)<br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Family members from Lancashire, Oxford and Bristol: brother, sister, nieces, great-nephews and a dog came to stay at various times as well as</span> <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">our son and his family and our daughter and hers. Happy chaos has reigned and the sun shone all the time! There have been barbecues and picnics, days on the beach, days on the burrows, hide-and-seek in the garden</span> <span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">and a great deal of family time. It has all been wonderful but now I am exhausted!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">My husband's doctor suggested we have a holiday while waiting for an appointment at the spinal clinic, which could be a long wait. He couldn't manage a long journey so I looked for some peace and quiet with a touch of luxury within a 25 mile radius of home and here we are in a farm cottage on the edge of Dartmoor. Apart from a young honeymooning couple, we have the whole farm to ourselves as the owners are themselves on holiday and the summer season is almost over. Tranquility is what we needed and that is just what we have.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, sans-serif;">I posted a lot of photographs yesterday but I won't do that now in case they disappear again. As I have been typing this, a message that an error has occurred while saving has appeared at regular intervals. I will click on the Publish button and hope for the best. If this succeeds, I will try another full post later in the week. </span><br /><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-80993001819897226872013-07-11T21:51:00.002+01:002013-07-11T21:53:32.894+01:00A lovesome thing<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">It has been something of a tough time here in recent weeks.&nbsp; My poor husband has been undergoing various therapies for his back problem, each of them causing him more pain and decreasing his mobility. We have&nbsp; spent a great deal of time in hospital and doctors' waiting rooms but now, having eventually made our way past what my son calls 'the gatekeepers,' he is being treated by an excellent spinal consultant. The NHS works really well once one gets into the system, it is the frustrating period of procedure-following that lets us down. We are now waiting for lots of test results to come together and&nbsp; then the consultant should come up with a solution or at least a plan.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">My respite from all the anxiety and frustration has been my garden, which may not be the biggest or the best in the world but it is my 'lovesome thing' and the glorious weather that we are enjoying has made it possible for me to spend most of my free time out there. I'm afraid that I haven't been able to concentrate on writing or even reading; I'm sorry if I haven't called in on you for a while but I will catch up eventually.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hH__VBT26p0/Ud2Ut7TIu6I/AAAAAAAAFxM/176mVC2Eq1s/s1600/P6050607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hH__VBT26p0/Ud2Ut7TIu6I/AAAAAAAAFxM/176mVC2Eq1s/s400/P6050607.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><table align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rose plot,</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fringed pool,</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Fern'd grot—</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;&nbsp;The veriest school</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="5"><i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </i></a></span></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of peace; and yet the fool</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Contends that God is not—</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nay, but I have a sign;</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><br /></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis very sure God walks in mine.</span></td><td align="right" valign="top"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="10"><i>&nbsp; </i></a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 601px;"><tbody><tr align="center"><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Thomas Edward Brown</b></i></span></span></td></tr><tr><td><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ynSqPHg4MrQ/Ud2VKfIb51I/AAAAAAAAFxc/qezBZidtZmw/s1600/P6070612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ynSqPHg4MrQ/Ud2VKfIb51I/AAAAAAAAFxc/qezBZidtZmw/s400/P6070612.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table></blockquote><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;The white lilac is the highlight of the garden for a very brief time. I love to go out at night to see it glow in the moonlight. Alas, it has already turned brown but the birds love to sit and sing in it and it is now covered in honeysuckle so its glory changes rather than fades.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I don't have a rose plot but there are a few lovely roses, each with a particular memory attached, dotted around the garden. These three were given to me by my pupils when I retired.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-53MON8TYRlc/Ud8RUAf7SOI/AAAAAAAAFxs/S7vdVoX9CDU/s1600/P6180627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-53MON8TYRlc/Ud8RUAf7SOI/AAAAAAAAFxs/S7vdVoX9CDU/s400/P6180627.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0GRbX15MSm8/Ud8RXKb4FhI/AAAAAAAAFx8/gfxX8Gzns74/s1600/P6180628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0GRbX15MSm8/Ud8RXKb4FhI/AAAAAAAAFx8/gfxX8Gzns74/s400/P6180628.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m4T80OFdFTM/Ud8RWOmVNLI/AAAAAAAAFx0/Ys_rsy_e5uk/s1600/P6180629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m4T80OFdFTM/Ud8RWOmVNLI/AAAAAAAAFx0/Ys_rsy_e5uk/s400/P6180629.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;As it is a cottage garden, I can have anything in it and I do! Here is just a fraction of what is in bloom just now, there is no order or planning, I just put in what I like!</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pDw_zQCuhX4/Ud8SnZheTNI/AAAAAAAAFyM/KyQ1Pr3kztA/s1600/P6180624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pDw_zQCuhX4/Ud8SnZheTNI/AAAAAAAAFyM/KyQ1Pr3kztA/s400/P6180624.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FqJ-VBAmLAs/Ud8Sxsn_5ZI/AAAAAAAAFyc/LWZWo1L-y4o/s1600/P6180626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FqJ-VBAmLAs/Ud8Sxsn_5ZI/AAAAAAAAFyc/LWZWo1L-y4o/s400/P6180626.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cTHpl4-t8dc/Ud8St-giNZI/AAAAAAAAFyU/1m3EcRCVupE/s1600/P6180630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cTHpl4-t8dc/Ud8St-giNZI/AAAAAAAAFyU/1m3EcRCVupE/s400/P6180630.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5M8FHrpgtRE/Ud8S3I2bZFI/AAAAAAAAFyk/2ljy0XzOVoI/s1600/P6180631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5M8FHrpgtRE/Ud8S3I2bZFI/AAAAAAAAFyk/2ljy0XzOVoI/s400/P6180631.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I keep a lot of pots by the kitchen door so that I have easy access to the salads, tomatoes&nbsp; and vegetables; just enough for our needs, I have to buy more when we have visitors.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jbZjWI-tzzY/Ud8VkDJa4jI/AAAAAAAAFy8/4o8zY-_Fhds/s1600/P6050595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jbZjWI-tzzY/Ud8VkDJa4jI/AAAAAAAAFy8/4o8zY-_Fhds/s400/P6050595.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M13i2ZRiAUQ/Ud8VlEG2ydI/AAAAAAAAFzE/h5163Q0aaxs/s1600/P6050596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M13i2ZRiAUQ/Ud8VlEG2ydI/AAAAAAAAFzE/h5163Q0aaxs/s400/P6050596.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GpncbKGVMms/Ud8Vi5QBJdI/AAAAAAAAFy0/7-GwFGZmu8w/s1600/P6050599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GpncbKGVMms/Ud8Vi5QBJdI/AAAAAAAAFy0/7-GwFGZmu8w/s400/P6050599.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IZBnjxk04xQ/Ud8VrkhTvfI/AAAAAAAAFzM/YrfvbAsAq8I/s1600/P6050601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IZBnjxk04xQ/Ud8VrkhTvfI/AAAAAAAAFzM/YrfvbAsAq8I/s400/P6050601.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">In the few days that have passed since I took these photos, everything has grown at an amazing rate. The tomatoes are in flower, the peas and beans are producing a daily crop and the potatoes are ready to pick.&nbsp; If I get to them before the birds, I even manage to add a few strawberries to my breakfast cereal. The&nbsp; pots of flowers are for my pleasure and for the local bee population to enjoy. I planted up a number of pots with <a href="http://www.sarahraven.com/shop/seeds/flower-seeds/perfect-for-pollinators.html" target="_blank">Sarah Raven's pollinator friendly seeds</a> last year and this year they have produced a splendid array of wild flowers.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">'When the eve is cool,' I walk around my garden with watering cans in hand and I feel the peace and appreciate the beauty of this lovesome place.</span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-53718207762086192402013-06-02T10:38:00.002+01:002013-06-02T10:38:57.522+01:00In a golden coach<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What were you doing on 2 June 1953? I was an over-excited seven year old, crammed with dozens of other children into a neighbour's living room, watching the coronation of Queen Elizabeth on a nine inch television screen. The&nbsp; country hadn't seen such festivities since VE Day, eight years earlier. Our streets were decorated with red, white and blue bunting, interspersed with gold coloured cardboard crowns. We had street parties and games and the whole world seemed to be a happy, fun-filled place, especially as sweet rationing had ended a few months earlier and we children were given bags of sweets and chocolate.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The young queen brought hope to the nation still suffering the after-effects of war. The ubiquitous song of that time sounds corny now but it really was on the lips of everyone from schoolchildren to bus conductors, shopkeepers and roadsweepers.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/T4Rojv5ok-8" width="420"></iframe></span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp; Of&nbsp; course, the television coverage that we watched was in black and white and the tv screen was tiny but it was still magical. We were to see the <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00qshsy" target="_blank">splendid colourful spectacle</a> in the cinema later.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Coronation fever seemed to last for months. Our school year always ended with a "Field Day." We walked in procession with brass bands, banners and morris dancers to a field several miles away where our parents had been busy erecting stalls for the sale of cakes, fizzy drinks and ice cream. There were swing boats and roundabouts, coconut shies and hoopla. We had dancing displays and races; it was one of the highlights of our year. My class was chosen to present a pageant of the coronation. The golden coach was replaced by a flatbed trailer. Bernadette Beasley was chosen to be the Queen and I was one of her six ladies-in-waiting. (That's me standing behind her majesty)</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-llDi_YnaNNA/UasMYUiZNcI/AAAAAAAAFwc/ma4eq72S62c/s1600/Coronation1+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-llDi_YnaNNA/UasMYUiZNcI/AAAAAAAAFwc/ma4eq72S62c/s320/Coronation1+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0njbk0rqCQA/UasMYyyMsRI/AAAAAAAAFwk/gzNEWWh03lM/s1600/Coronation2+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0njbk0rqCQA/UasMYyyMsRI/AAAAAAAAFwk/gzNEWWh03lM/s320/Coronation2+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The pictures, like me, show signs of their age but they bring back very happy memories of a lost time of simple, innocent enjoyment. I lost touch with all the other children in these photos when I moved to a different school but I know what the real queen has achieved in the 60 years of her reign; few people can match her devotion to duty - all her promises fulfilled.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEQONSNLYuI/UasSfZnSAGI/AAAAAAAAFw0/QlGknORMKwQ/s1600/QE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEQONSNLYuI/UasSfZnSAGI/AAAAAAAAFw0/QlGknORMKwQ/s1600/QE.jpg" /></a></div>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-85698492764887185112013-05-29T16:42:00.000+01:002013-05-29T16:42:04.979+01:00A bit of a grumble<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am feeling just a tad negative at the moment. I have just cancelled the long-planned holiday in Austria that we should be flying out for in a few days time. I can't direct any grumbles at the cause of the cancellation because that would be adding insult to the injury my husband has suffered to his back but we are both very disappointed and that makes other things seem more irritating than they would normally appear.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Therefore, I'm going to do a 'grumpy old woman' moan about something other than cancelled flights, travel insurance that isn't worth the paper it is printed on and the lost delights of visiting my brother and walking in the Alps. I turn my attention instead to Amazon and the Royal Mail.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H95gbbfuCwA/UaYSadBDMAI/AAAAAAAAFvg/J9DrtUe9X7I/s1600/Braun_OralB_Triumph_5000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H95gbbfuCwA/UaYSadBDMAI/AAAAAAAAFvg/J9DrtUe9X7I/s320/Braun_OralB_Triumph_5000.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My electric toothbrush died and I saw a really good offer on Amazon and ordered one. An email told me that it would be sent by Royal Mail's tracking service and would arrive on Saturday 23 May. Fine. Saturday passed with no delivery but it was the May Bank Holiday so I thought it was not unreasonable for it to be delayed until Tuesday 28th. As Tuesday wore on with no delivery, I checked the tracking status on my Amazon account and saw that the package had supposedly been delivered on Saturday. Here is where my grumble begins.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Amazon Help page told me that if a package has not arrived but shows as having been delivered then it is up to the customer to contact the carrier. Why, I ask? Amazon took my money, surely Amazon should ensure the goods are delivered. At this point, I was just a little miffed.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Royal Mail website had my package registered as having been delivered and signed for on Saturday 23 May at 1.30pm. (A time when both I and my incapacitated husband were at home). The Royal Mail Help page informed me that I should check with my neighbours to see if one of them had taken in the package. Miffedness grew as I trudged around the neighbours in the pouring rain and found no-one had taken in the package. Back to the website help page to find out what to do next: <i>check with the person who signed for the package. </i>Ha, ha. No helpful information on how to find out who had signed for it and no card left by the postman to say where he had left the parcel.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DJqDqaNlMuQ/UaYbstjNyoI/AAAAAAAAFvw/72m6xM1D8eQ/s1600/royalmail-card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DJqDqaNlMuQ/UaYbstjNyoI/AAAAAAAAFvw/72m6xM1D8eQ/s1600/royalmail-card.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tetchiness setting in now as I try to locate a phone number for Royal Mail and then spend 45 minutes working my way through their lists of options and recorded messages telling me how wonderful&nbsp; their service is and how I could find all the help I needed on their website. Eventually, I arrived at a human voice, the very carefully chosen voice of Royal Mail's Complaints Department. A voice that undoubtedly belongs to the most handsome, caring and charming young man in the world. How could one possibly feel aggrieved or angry or even the teeniest bit annoyed? Well done, Royal Mail; you should be put in charge of peace negotiations around the world!</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFBrbCyvAaQ/UaYcy2eBg7I/AAAAAAAAFv8/Dlo3-pBDc9Q/s1600/rainbow_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFBrbCyvAaQ/UaYcy2eBg7I/AAAAAAAAFv8/Dlo3-pBDc9Q/s320/rainbow_5.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Handsome Young Voice apologised profusely and assured me that all would be sorted. And lo, it came to pass that a Royal Mail van arrived this morning, with a Royal Mail postman bearing my package. Would you believe it (well, <i>would </i>you?), it had been delivered to a house in a completely different street on Saturday, the homeowner had signed for it, presumably she had been expecting a parcel from Amazon, had the same name as me and didn't notice the wrong address on the label. Then, this morning she rushed out of her house, hailed the passing post van and handed in the parcel. And here it was, better late than never! Oops.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Displaced frustration, I know. But little things niggle when you are feeling out of sorts. And anyway, shouldn't we expect more than and inefficiency and blustering excuses from the Royal Mail and shouldn't Amazon have chased up that non-delivery?</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qx0-GhduOCE/UaYfiPuKuWI/AAAAAAAAFwM/iXfolX3U_jo/s1600/royal-mail.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qx0-GhduOCE/UaYfiPuKuWI/AAAAAAAAFwM/iXfolX3U_jo/s320/royal-mail.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-90592466491004253372013-05-14T12:44:00.000+01:002013-05-14T12:44:24.909+01:00Fine china<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everything today seems to be high speed, top volume and low maintenance.&nbsp; I admit that I was glad of many modern conveniences when I was a busy, working mother. Retirement means I have time to make real bread, real coffee, real porridge, to hang the washing on the line instead of putting it in the tumble dryer, to pick flowers for the house and generally surround myself with lovely tastes and smells. It really is worth the time and effort!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">However busy I used to be, I would always lay the dining room table properly for our evening meal. Sitting down to eat together has always been an essential feature of our family life, a time to catch up on news, to sort out problems and to add to the repertoire of family jokes. The children have left home but they come to visit and the table has had to grow to accommodate the new family members but we can't imagine life without it.</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lwI4uHiXs7Q/UZIjWkGf8CI/AAAAAAAAFvQ/SRp7wiEjFS8/s1600/family+christmas+001-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lwI4uHiXs7Q/UZIjWkGf8CI/AAAAAAAAFvQ/SRp7wiEjFS8/s320/family+christmas+001-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My work used to take me into the homes of many young parents and I was at first surprised and then saddened to find that few of them owned a table. Lots of modern first-time houses are too small to have a separate dining room or even a kitchen/diner. People seem to eat from trays in front of the television - not a good scenario for encouraging language development in the deaf children I worked with! Deaf or hearing, children learn an enormous amount from the interaction of families and sitting in a row in front of a TV does not provide that. My husband, a maths teacher, wants a campaign to bring back multiplication tables; I want a campaign to bring back dinner tables!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My online friend, Dewena, takes great care over her table settings. Go over and see the <a href="http://awindow-lookacrosstheway.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/it-was-beauty-she-wanted.html" target="_blank">lovely china and table linen</a> she uses. We both think that it is worth the effort, even when we are left with only two at the table. I haven't asked, but I imagine she must have lots of cupboards to store all her china, something that I am sadly lacking. Our house is crammed with books and bookshelves and a china collection would be difficult to accommodate.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I inherited an Edwardian teaset from my mother-in-law and it is still in a box, almost two years on. Inspired by Dewena, I took it out and washed it a few days ago. It is fine bone china, hand painted and heavily decorated:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tb2Z6Sezsbg/UZIaAdjytkI/AAAAAAAAFvA/r9Xbq3fJe0E/s1600/P5060578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tb2Z6Sezsbg/UZIaAdjytkI/AAAAAAAAFvA/r9Xbq3fJe0E/s400/P5060578.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are 34 pieces altogether: 12 teaplates, 9 cups and saucers, 2 cake plates, a milk jug and a bowl. Mother-in-law, who inherited the set from her mother, kept it in a display cabinet and never used it. Afternoon tea parties went out of fashion in the 1940s and I don't have a display cabinet to show off that Edwardian splendour; what to do with it? I took the photographs to the local antique shop, which specialises in fine china, to get some idea of the value. I thought I might sell it and buy something I would like to use instead. I am glad that I took photos and not the box of china</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">as I might have dropped it when I heard the valuation! £20 is the current value of this 110 year old set. There is no market for fine china.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What will I do? I will establish a new fashion for afternoon tea. I'll bake cakes and scones and make dainty cucumber sandwiches and lay the table with my best cloth and napkins and my fine china. You're invited!</span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-6254932546211791492013-05-08T11:04:00.001+01:002013-05-08T11:04:42.747+01:00A late arrival<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have been humming a certain tune under my breath for many weeks as the winter dragged on and on and on. I usually think of versions of this song by Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughan but, following news of her death a few weeks ago, I'd like to play Deanna Durbin singing <i>Spring will be a little late this year</i></span>.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MYyJBYj-7Og" width="560"></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I thought that the garden would never recover from the long months of rain. I watched in dismay as the topsoil was daily washed down onto the yard below, forming a sludge that had to be removed quickly before it could get into our narrow drains. Local farmers said the crops this year, if they could ever get them planted, would be poor in quality as well as late because the soil's nutrients had been washed away by the floods. Imagine my happy surprise, therefore, when I returned from <a href="http://www.randomdistractions.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/peregrinations.html" target="_blank">my peregrinations</a> to find the sun shining and the garden bursting with blooms!</span>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cue another song:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OmBxVfQTuvI" width="420"></iframe></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here are a few of my garden delights:</span><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EaYvByApUgE/UYod0LizK1I/AAAAAAAAFqw/ShFi8ghrIMM/s1600/P5050574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EaYvByApUgE/UYod0LizK1I/AAAAAAAAFqw/ShFi8ghrIMM/s320/P5050574.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7xL7cwt1Jdo/UYodj2-uqcI/AAAAAAAAFqg/Bm-W5WOqJ1U/s1600/P5050572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7xL7cwt1Jdo/UYodj2-uqcI/AAAAAAAAFqg/Bm-W5WOqJ1U/s320/P5050572.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--Y4pkTTLHp8/UYodxVxaA0I/AAAAAAAAFqo/POTg39j0-2s/s1600/P5050573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--Y4pkTTLHp8/UYodxVxaA0I/AAAAAAAAFqo/POTg39j0-2s/s320/P5050573.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />&nbsp;<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The last of the camellias sit next to the first signs of the magnolia and lilac flowers against a remarkably blue sky.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i3NNq1YVABk/UYod7PQ2tsI/AAAAAAAAFq4/a8CYVLKgf18/s1600/P5050577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i3NNq1YVABk/UYod7PQ2tsI/AAAAAAAAFq4/a8CYVLKgf18/s320/P5050577.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">&nbsp;Spring flowers</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">are coming into their own at last.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aNfGt-iA8wY/UYofMs43JMI/AAAAAAAAFrE/dCKgzhaqxIY/s1600/P5050566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aNfGt-iA8wY/UYofMs43JMI/AAAAAAAAFrE/dCKgzhaqxIY/s320/P5050566.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;and the shrubs and apple tree are all in blossom.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AlGanm744hU/UYoflMUSC8I/AAAAAAAAFrY/GEUjeYmHN9g/s1600/P5050569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AlGanm744hU/UYoflMUSC8I/AAAAAAAAFrY/GEUjeYmHN9g/s320/P5050569.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have started to plant up my patio pots, only five weeks later than usual! I had this little companion throughout, almost pushing me away when he caught sight of a worm.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i5zCZAO9V6w/UYohCWeI5VI/AAAAAAAAFrs/tU6CVrX4zrc/s1600/20130501_171506+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i5zCZAO9V6w/UYohCWeI5VI/AAAAAAAAFrs/tU6CVrX4zrc/s400/20130501_171506+(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today, the rain has come back and the temperature has plummeted; gale force winds are forecast for tomorrow. Perhaps our late spring will have lasted for just a few days but it was worth waiting for and perhaps the garden will survive yet again.</span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-68849219440640671822013-04-29T17:17:00.000+01:002013-04-29T17:17:32.183+01:00Peregrinations<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since last sitting at my desk, I have been travelling around Britain and generally having a good time. There has been a lot of cake:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r32NjI68Dyk/UXmDpyGISAI/AAAAAAAAFn8/bnY2CWGIjx8/s1600/P4130533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r32NjI68Dyk/UXmDpyGISAI/AAAAAAAAFn8/bnY2CWGIjx8/s320/P4130533.JPG" width="320" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Lots of memories:</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xBSil769xYA/UX6N9i4-N_I/AAAAAAAAFo8/Fq_ZwrrFblw/s1600/wedding+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xBSil769xYA/UX6N9i4-N_I/AAAAAAAAFo8/Fq_ZwrrFblw/s320/wedding+001.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 1973</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Revisiting of special places:</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nY-LM7VrD08/UX6Pl3EpAQI/AAAAAAAAFpI/Wf9WX9xf_j8/s1600/20130416_180709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nY-LM7VrD08/UX6Pl3EpAQI/AAAAAAAAFpI/Wf9WX9xf_j8/s320/20130416_180709.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hawk and Buckle April 2013</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6HHw0zcAM-U/UX6TfgzfqFI/AAAAAAAAFpc/ZeAQrZZDoew/s1600/Graham+Nixon+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6HHw0zcAM-U/UX6TfgzfqFI/AAAAAAAAFpc/ZeAQrZZDoew/s320/Graham+Nixon+007.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swallow Falls 1973</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xMSIFSl7Y6A/UX6XOG7pYDI/AAAAAAAAFps/4h9IODZdDzU/s1600/004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xMSIFSl7Y6A/UX6XOG7pYDI/AAAAAAAAFps/4h9IODZdDzU/s320/004.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caernarvon Castle 1973</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The MM and I were celebrating our 40th wedding anniversary. Our plan had been to have a quiet weekend away but our son and daughter had other plans and we were swept away in a whirl of gatherings, champagne, dinners and visits. After a weekend of fun here with the family, they packed us off to&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dxBndhGKpYY/UX6Zjbo3ZOI/AAAAAAAAFp8/fsb4S2SsCFQ/s1600/20130416_175642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dxBndhGKpYY/UX6Zjbo3ZOI/AAAAAAAAFp8/fsb4S2SsCFQ/s320/20130416_175642.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in North Wales to stay in the seventeenth century coaching inn where we spent the first few days of our honeymoon. The mountains, castles and coast looked the same and, as long as we avoided mirrors and shop windows, we imagined we were the same young people who went there in 1973!</span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-72131349543965798962013-03-09T11:33:00.000+00:002013-03-09T11:33:55.963+00:00Hints of spring<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this time last year, the garden was a mass of blooms and we were eating all of our meals on the patio. Spring and summer rolled into one glorious month and then were washed away by months of unprecedented rain. The floods have now cleared but winter, apparently, has not yet ended. More rain, followed by icy winds and wintry showers are to come BUT <u>today</u> the sun is shining and the temperature is a very mellow 11 degrees (51 Fahrenheit).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I went out to fill the bird feeders this morning, I noticed lots of signs of spring emerging and, knowing this might be my last opportunity for a while, I fetched my camera and recorded a few of them. </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OH5RrXNmYk4/UTsVyocfYVI/AAAAAAAAFgI/G8I6epAw4ok/s1600/P3090491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OH5RrXNmYk4/UTsVyocfYVI/AAAAAAAAFgI/G8I6epAw4ok/s320/P3090491.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUPdkUbUtfc/UTsVvg2b8gI/AAAAAAAAFgA/nBobWFBCr98/s1600/P3090490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUPdkUbUtfc/UTsVvg2b8gI/AAAAAAAAFgA/nBobWFBCr98/s320/P3090490.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The dwarf daffodils have been open for a week now but today I spotted the first of the regular daffodils.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The camellia shrubs have also been in flower for a while, the earliest harbingers of spring in my sheltered garden. Lots of the outer flowers have fallen but I spotted one deep in the foliage and a whole lot of buds waiting to open and delight.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-03oeTjJIbpM/UTsVoVsiUpI/AAAAAAAAFf8/d2ReFZ3xMN4/s1600/P3090492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-03oeTjJIbpM/UTsVoVsiUpI/AAAAAAAAFf8/d2ReFZ3xMN4/s320/P3090492.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CBuX-8t1B5Y/UTsV7zka3mI/AAAAAAAAFgU/rNpTyCKQzls/s1600/P3090493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CBuX-8t1B5Y/UTsV7zka3mI/AAAAAAAAFgU/rNpTyCKQzls/s320/P3090493.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Another early show comes from the pulmonaria, which I call <i>pandemonium</i> because</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of its tendency to run riot in the garden.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIrvzKQWqVM/UTsY3Hpzi1I/AAAAAAAAFg4/sLWGPXx0trg/s1600/P3090498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIrvzKQWqVM/UTsY3Hpzi1I/AAAAAAAAFg4/sLWGPXx0trg/s320/P3090498.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>&nbsp;<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am reluctant to pick spring flowers because I know the early bumble bees need them but I know that these beautiful tulips will be eaten by mice overnight if I don't get them first, so I'll be out later to gather them:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ozUnKX0EhgA/UTsV-OgRU-I/AAAAAAAAFgc/INsbPK1bDEI/s1600/P3090496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ozUnKX0EhgA/UTsV-OgRU-I/AAAAAAAAFgc/INsbPK1bDEI/s320/P3090496.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you look carefully at the next picture you might spot a dragon. He is one of the pets we have for the grandchildren. He's rather fond of hellebores and snowdrops.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHB5Zry0Th8/UTsaZhNX1DI/AAAAAAAAFhA/4q9n2vpTRcI/s1600/P3090503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHB5Zry0Th8/UTsaZhNX1DI/AAAAAAAAFhA/4q9n2vpTRcI/s320/P3090503.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Spring was the theme for our writing group this week and we heard a selection of poems, each of them inspiring but we did not use my personal favourite so here it is:</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork">Nothing is so beautiful as spring -- <br />When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; <br />Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush <br />Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring <br />The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; <br />The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush <br />The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush <br />With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. <br /><br />What is all this juice and all this joy? <br />A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning <br />In Eden garden. -- Have, get, before it cloy, <br />Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning, <br />Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy, <br />Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.</span><br /><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork"><b><i>Gerard Manley Hopkins</i></b> </span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The lushness of Hopkins' spring hasn't arrived in my garden yet but there are definitely some early hints of what is to come.</span> </span></div></div><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-31626129613810587192013-02-23T12:07:00.000+00:002013-02-23T22:11:04.385+00:00Special jam tarts<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm sure that everyone has a recipe for jam tarts but none can be as simple or as special as mine! I was baking with 4 year-old granddaughter Millie when she asked why I was using a recipe from a little notebook rather than one of the many cookery books I have on the shelf. I explained that I write up really special recipes in my notebook, which is well-thumbed and stained from years of use. <span style="font-size: small;">S</span>he thought about this for a while and then asked if I would write her special recipe for jam tarts in my book and here it is, just as she dictated:</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>Millie's jam tarts</b></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">You need some pastry and some jam</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Roll out the pastry</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Cut out circles with a cutter</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Put them in a special jam tart tray</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Put some jam in each tart</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Cook them</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Take them out of the oven and let them cool</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Eat them.</span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8GHWrbo3mlA/USiwRHCGl1I/AAAAAAAAFfg/Eu5wAjl0bhg/s1600/WP_000192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8GHWrbo3mlA/USiwRHCGl1I/AAAAAAAAFfg/Eu5wAjl0bhg/s320/WP_000192.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Simple, isn't it? Of course, this has pride of place in my notebook.</span></span>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-13989041998055095432013-02-16T08:13:00.000+00:002013-02-16T08:13:04.651+00:00The winnerThank you to everyone who entered the draw for <i>Slightly Foxed Quarterly</i>. Fifteen names went into the hat yesterday and the one that came out was <b>Derwena</b>. Congratulations! Please send me your details via email and I will set up the account in time for you to receive the Spring edition.monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-34045763277808087162013-02-14T09:55:00.001+00:002013-02-14T09:55:22.396+00:00Last day for Slightly Foxed drawI'm in the midst of the grandchildren for half term but I'll be leaving for home tomorrow. Before I set out I will put the names of everyone who has left a comment here in the past two weeks into a hat and let one of the children draw one out <a href="http://www.randomdistractions.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/birthday-book-draw.html" target="_blank">to win the subscription for a year of Slightly Foxed quarterly.&nbsp;</a> If you have been hovering and would still like to enter then please do so today.<br /><br />Good luck!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dgDaw71ec2A/URy0eFqVIFI/AAAAAAAAFfI/gs0hITvvr_8/s1600/SF+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dgDaw71ec2A/URy0eFqVIFI/AAAAAAAAFfI/gs0hITvvr_8/s320/SF+001.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-20241216659065379022013-02-08T22:52:00.003+00:002013-02-08T22:52:47.162+00:00A wan winter landscapeAs I drive around the Devon lanes at this time of year, I often think of these lines from Robert Graves: <i>a wan winter landscape, hedges freaked with snow. </i>There was no snow yesterday but the landscape was certainly wan. The last thing, you might think, to tempt me to visit a Royal Horticultural Society garden but that is exactly what I did. The MM and I drove to Great Torrington to&nbsp;<a href="http://www.rhs.org.uk/gardens/rosemoor" target="_blank"> RHS Rosemoor</a>.&nbsp; The garden, for the most part, looked quite wan, waiting for spring to bring it to life but there were some early plants to enjoy: masses of snowdrops, hellebores, a few narcissi and some miniature crocuses.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eW8uqWWIf_E/URU12YN4pDI/AAAAAAAAFTY/CZ4xkdXOFGU/s1600/P2070421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eW8uqWWIf_E/URU12YN4pDI/AAAAAAAAFTY/CZ4xkdXOFGU/s400/P2070421.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Aren't these glorious? I don't have much success with snowdrops in my garden, possibly because little visitors nibble the bulbs at night. I do have lots of hellebores, which I love, but not a yellow one like this beauty<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Eb9ceAO6s/URU2zlebMtI/AAAAAAAAFTk/iXfXqJk-MgY/s1600/P2070463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Eb9ceAO6s/URU2zlebMtI/AAAAAAAAFTk/iXfXqJk-MgY/s320/P2070463.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The real reason for our visit was to see the Winter Sculpture Exhibition. It was a really cold day and my gloves did nothing to stop my fingers from aching but I just had to take pictures of the wonderful pieces of stoneware, stainless steel, ceramic, bronze and glass sculpture strategically placed against the backdrop of grasses, evergreens, trees and perrenials. As the exhibition brochure says: "Each piece has been carefully placed within the garden to enlighten, amuse and inspire our visitors this winter."<br /><br />There are 60 sculpures in all, from 20 West Country sculptors. I can only share a few of them here but I would encourage anyone who is in the area to go and see the exhibition for themselves. It is on until Sunday 24 February.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UHNVF6A3tpI/URU6NNkHYnI/AAAAAAAAFTs/WqLWn2jRXss/s1600/P2070407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UHNVF6A3tpI/URU6NNkHYnI/AAAAAAAAFTs/WqLWn2jRXss/s320/P2070407.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small hanging dragonfly by Katie Lake</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v8h27MeYsJc/URU6QDtSMiI/AAAAAAAAFT0/dx5T5T7fXaQ/s1600/P2070410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v8h27MeYsJc/URU6QDtSMiI/AAAAAAAAFT0/dx5T5T7fXaQ/s320/P2070410.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Female red kite by Ama Menec</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mmWfstcipJc/URU6QAqsEII/AAAAAAAAFT8/6ngIF3aewRY/s1600/P2070412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mmWfstcipJc/URU6QAqsEII/AAAAAAAAFT8/6ngIF3aewRY/s320/P2070412.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aerviator by Michael Kusz</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2X3RCOENV7Y/URV6WK9vw6I/AAAAAAAAFUk/ZVsNW_UxC6Y/s1600/P2070413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2X3RCOENV7Y/URV6WK9vw6I/AAAAAAAAFUk/ZVsNW_UxC6Y/s320/P2070413.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like it like that by Penny Hardy</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CuOWxGFlYAg/URV55oV8NYI/AAAAAAAAFUU/MkypjBXP4TI/s1600/P2070414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CuOWxGFlYAg/URV55oV8NYI/AAAAAAAAFUU/MkypjBXP4TI/s320/P2070414.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">A close-up of one of those amazing dancing figures</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JYTMCNud6eM/URV-EzTeHUI/AAAAAAAAFUs/xEtLsLn14OA/s1600/P2070434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JYTMCNud6eM/URV-EzTeHUI/AAAAAAAAFUs/xEtLsLn14OA/s320/P2070434.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pair of courting cranes by Colin Andrews</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T2Y7fraHHiQ/URV-F0CGx5I/AAAAAAAAFU0/vMBxsqixcs4/s1600/P2070441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T2Y7fraHHiQ/URV-F0CGx5I/AAAAAAAAFU0/vMBxsqixcs4/s320/P2070441.JPG" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A walk in the garden by Melanie Deegan</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>I am troubled by a great many snails in my garden but nothing like this one!<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EtKNSaxuwtU/URV_YFCN_iI/AAAAAAAAFU8/9VFAlVbQsfA/s1600/P2070444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EtKNSaxuwtU/URV_YFCN_iI/AAAAAAAAFU8/9VFAlVbQsfA/s320/P2070444.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Cyril by Tony Smither</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>All of the photos can be enlarged by clicking on them. These are just a sample of the delights in the exhibition. Visitors are asked to choose their favourite but my husband and I couldn't settle on one, we both agreed that, if we had a bigger garden and a much bigger bank balance, we would love to have them all.monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-5208182866256286722013-02-07T07:54:00.000+00:002013-02-07T08:13:38.490+00:00Nothing new under the sunThe internet has given us instant access to a world of words. Whether that is an advantage or otherwise is open to question. I love the fact that I can look up a quotation that I can only half remember but I'm also put firmly in my place when I think I have an original idea and then discover lots of people have written about it already. Poets seem to have the advantage: as great observers of the minutiae of life, at least one of them will have covered whatever you are thinking about.<br /><br />The theme for our writing group yesterday was <i>faces</i> and our inspiration came from Walt Whitman's poem of the same name:<br /><br /><h2 class="title" itemprop="name">Faces</h2><div style="margin-top: 20px; min-height: 570px;"><div class="KonaBody"><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">SAUNTERING the pavement, or riding the country by-road--lo! such<br /> faces!<br /> Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality;<br /> The spiritual, prescient face--the always welcome, common, benevolent<br /> face,<br /> The face of the singing of music--the grand faces of natural lawyers<br /> and judges, broad at the back-top;<br /> The faces of hunters and fishers, bulged at the brows--the shaved<br /> blanch'd faces of orthodox citizens;<br /> The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist's face;<br /> The ugly face of some beautiful Soul, the handsome detested or<br /> despised face;<br /> The sacred faces of infants, the illuminated face of the mother of<br /> many children;<br /> The face of an amour, the face of veneration;<br /> The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock; 10<br /> The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated face;<br /> A wild hawk, his wings clipp'd by the clipper;<br /> A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the<br /> gelder.<br /><br /> Sauntering the pavement, thus, or crossing the ceaseless ferry,<br /> faces, and faces, and faces:<br /> I see them, and complain not, and am content with all.<br /><br /><br /> Do you suppose I could be content with all, if I thought them their<br /> own finale?<br /><br /> This now is too lamentable a face for a man;<br /> Some abject louse, asking leave to be--cringing for it;<br /> Some milk-nosed maggot, blessing what lets it wrig to its hole.<br /><br /> This face is a dog's snout, sniffing for garbage; 20<br /> Snakes nest in that mouth--I hear the sibilant threat.<br /><br /> This face is a haze more chill than the arctic sea;<br /> Its sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go.<br /><br /> This is a face of bitter herbs--this an emetic--they need no label;<br /> And more of the drug-shelf, laudanum, caoutchouc, or hog's-lard.<br /><br /> This face is an epilepsy, its wordless tongue gives out the unearthly<br /> cry,<br /> Its veins down the neck distended, its eyes roll till they show<br /> nothing but their whites,<br /> Its teeth grit, the palms of the hands are cut by the turn'd-in<br /> nails,<br /> The man falls struggling and foaming to the ground while he<br /> speculates well.<br /><br /> This face is bitten by vermin and worms, 30<br /> And this is some murderer's knife, with a half-pull'd scabbard.<br /><br /> This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee;<br /> An unceasing death-bell tolls there.<br /><br /><br /> Those then are really men--the bosses and tufts of the great round<br /> globe!<br /><br /> Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creas'd and<br /> cadaverous march?<br /> Well, you cannot trick me.<br /><br /> I see your rounded, never-erased flow;<br /> I see neath the rims of your haggard and mean disguises.<br /><br /> Splay and twist as you like--poke with the tangling fores of fishes<br /> or rats;<br /> You'll be unmuzzled, you certainly will. 40<br /><br /> I saw the face of the most smear'd and slobbering idiot they had at<br /> the asylum;<br /> And I knew for my consolation what they knew not;<br /> I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother,<br /> The same wait to clear the rubbish from the fallen tenement;<br /> And I shall look again in a score or two of ages,<br /> And I shall meet the real landlord, perfect and unharm'd, every inch<br /> as good as myself.<br /><br /><br /> The Lord advances, and yet advances;<br /> Always the shadow in front--always the reach'd hand bringing up the<br /> laggards.<br /><br /> Out of this face emerge banners and horses--O superb! I see what is<br /> coming;<br /> I see the high pioneer-caps--I see the staves of runners clearing the<br /> way, 50<br /> I hear victorious drums.<br /><br /> This face is a life-boat;<br /> This is the face commanding and bearded, it asks no odds of the rest;<br /> This face is flavor'd fruit, ready for eating;<br /> This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of all good.<br /><br /> These faces bear testimony, slumbering or awake;<br /> They show their descent from the Master himself.<br /><br /> Off the word I have spoken, I except not one--red, white, black, are<br /> all deific;<br /> In each house is the ovum--it comes forth after a thousand years.<br /><br /> Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me; 60<br /> Tall and sufficient stand behind, and make signs to me;<br /> I read the promise, and patiently wait.<br /><br /> This is a full-grown lily's face,<br /> She speaks to the limber-hipp'd man near the garden pickets,<br /> Come here, she blushingly cries--Come nigh to me, limber-hipp'd man,<br /> Stand at my side till I lean as high as I can upon you,<br /> Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me,<br /> Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my breast and shoulders.<br /><br /><br /> The old face of the mother of many children!<br /> Whist! I am fully content. 70<br /><br /> Lull'd and late is the smoke of the First-day morning,<br /> It hangs low over the rows of trees by the fences,<br /> It hangs thin by the sassafras, the wild-cherry, and the cat-brier<br /> under them.<br /><br /> I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree,<br /> I heard what the singers were singing so long,<br /> Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water-<br /> blue,<br /><br /> Behold a woman!<br /> She looks out from her quaker cap--her face is clearer and more<br /> beautiful than the sky.<br /><br /> She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farmhouse,<br /> The sun just shines on her old white head. 80<br /><br /> Her ample gown is of cream-hued linen,<br /> Her grandsons raised the flax, and her granddaughters spun it with<br /> the distaff and the wheel.<br /><br /> The melodious character of the earth,<br /> The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go, and does not wish to<br /> go,<br /> The justified mother of men. </span><br /><br /></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Walt Whitman</span></b></i></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Looking back to my student days, I rem<span style="font-size: small;">ember finding <span style="font-size: small;">W</span>hitman a </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">master of description but rather too wordy for comfort. I have learned patience with age and can now appreciate the detail in his work<span style="font-size: small;">: how vivid the word pictures in this piece.</span></span></span></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">******************************************</span></span></span></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We have been experiencing some pretty fierce gales accompanied by wintry showers. For us<span style="font-size: small;">, that means&nbsp; showers of rain with&nbsp; occasional sleet or hail<span style="font-size: small;">;</span> further inlan<span style="font-size: small;">d, especially over the moors, they get snow. I woke very early <span style="font-size: small;">on Tuesday morning, before dawn, and looked out <span style="font-size: small;">of the window<span style="font-size: small;">. In the dim light, I could just make out a few heaps of whiteness in the sheltered corners of the yard. Snow<span style="font-size: small;">! Only enough for a few snowballs but snow - the real white stuff that everyone else gets! <span style="font-size: small;">I had a cup of tea and looked out again as the darkness faded and lo,the snow was nothing but scatterings of paper. The dustbin had blown over in the wind and its contents <span style="font-size: small;">lay in tidy mounds around the yard. Robert Frost wrote a poem about it!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="text-align: left;"><h2 class="title" itemprop="name">A Patch of Old Snow</h2><div style="margin-top: 20px; min-height: 570px;"><div class="KonaBody"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">There's a patch of old snow in a corner<br />That I should have guessed<br />Was a blow-away paper the rain<br />Had brought to rest.<br /><br />It is speckled with grime as if<br />Small print overspread it,<br />The news of a day I've forgotten --<br />If I ever read it. </span><br /><br /></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Robert Frost</b></i></span></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author"></div><div class="poet" itemprop="author"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">&nbsp;There really is nothing new under the su<span style="font-size: small;">n.</span></span></span></div></div></div></div>monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-50144244248023569042013-02-02T11:23:00.000+00:002013-02-02T11:23:16.282+00:00Birthday book drawTo celebrate the seventh birthday of Random Distractions and to thank readers, commenters and lurkers for your friendship, interest and support I would like to offer the chance to win a year's subscription to the <a href="https://foxedquarterly.com/" target="_blank">Slightly Foxed Quarterly</a>.<br /><br />I wrote something about <i>Slightly Foxed</i> in my last post and the winner of the subscription could read the rest of that article by Roger Jones plus lots of other fascinating insights into literary treasures. I love the four days every year when my copy lands on the doormat. It is a beautifully presented magazine, small enough to fit in your handbag so ideal for a bus or train journey or a visit to the dentist. The articles are short enough to read over a cup of coffee but long enough to satisfy the book lover's curiosity. I have been reminded of many old favourites, introduced to authors and titles I had overlooked and sent scurrying to long neglected shelves and to second-hand book sellers to find the treasures that <i>Slightly Foxed</i> has displayed to tempt me.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q_63P4MsROc/UQz1VEwjX_I/AAAAAAAAFTA/7g8JRszRnKM/s1600/SF+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q_63P4MsROc/UQz1VEwjX_I/AAAAAAAAFTA/7g8JRszRnKM/s320/SF+001.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><br />I don't have a vested financial interest, I just love sharing my favourite publication,&nbsp; but I must declare a personal interest in the next edition, Spring 2013, because it will contain a review of J.P. Donleavy's work by my son! <br /><br />If you would like a chance to win a one year subscription (4 editions), leave a comment below. I hope all my old friends will enter (if only the pension would allow me to send each of you a subscription!) but I also welcome new readers, casual readers and those who often come by but never leave a comment. Just say, "Hi. Count me in." and I'll do that. The magazine can be delivered anywhere in the world.<br /><br />I am sorry that a recent influx of Spam has forced me to stop accepting comments from people who prefer to remain anonymous. You can still enter the draw by sending me an email to the address at the top of the blog.<br /><br />I will make the draw on Friday 15 February. Good luck!monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22922478.post-91391451831207657872013-01-30T11:28:00.000+00:002013-01-30T11:28:59.116+00:00Reasons to writeNext week, Random Distractions will celebrate its seventh birthday. For the first four or five years blog posts appeared on an almost daily basis and, looking back over them, they were of a reasonable standard of either writing or interest and sometimes both. I am surprised at what I used to produce! Then came the <i><b>slump</b></i>. I ran out of something: ideas, enthusiasm, time? The grandchildren came along and I started knitting and sewing and taking lots of photos and, before I noticed it happening, RD had transmuted into a domestic blog. I have nothing at all against domestic blogs, I am an avid reader of several, but that wasn't my intention when I took my first tentative steps into the blogosphere and I think that is why I sit here at my desk, day after day, wondering what to write about and then switching off.<br /><br />I have, several times, decided to close RD. Some of my favourite bloggers have already done the same, feeling that 5 years is probably the life expectancy of a blog. I was really saddened at the latest exit from my group of online friends: no more <a href="http://lettersfromahillfarm.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Letters from a hillfarm</a> from Nan. I have, however, discovered a new blog that is a joy to read with its eclectic mix of interesting, informative and entertaining articles. <a href="http://awindow-lookacrosstheway.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Across the Way</a> reminds me of the many random distractions I used to share. I love it but it also is a painful reminder of my current laziness.<br /><br />In yesterday's writing group, my friend and writing mentor, D of <a href="http://60goingon16.typepad.com/my_weblog/" target="_blank">60 going on 16</a>, asked us to consider our reasons for writing. I am, actually, finding it much easier to put pencil to paper than fingers to keyboard! However, I thought I might explore some of the reasons to write here, maybe sharing them with others will help clarify what I should do about Random Distractions.<br /><br />My current bedtime reading is the <a href="https://foxedquarterly.com/" target="_blank">Slightly Foxed Quarterly</a>. I just have time to read a couple of articles before nodding off and last night I came to the final article, <i>Flouting Destiny</i> by Roger Jones. I almost jumped out of bed when I realised that the subject matter was reasons for writing. He begins by telling us that British publisher turn out 200,000 new titles every year and advises that anyone contemplating adding one more book to this print mountain should ask themselves why they are doing this. He goes on to explore the reasons that other writers have given:<br /><ol><li>According to Dr Johnson, "No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money."</li><li>George Orwell suggests REVENGE as a motive. Roger Jones expands this&nbsp; to mean the writer's desire to order things into a more satisfactory form than that in which he has experienced it.</li><li>A desire to change the world by moulding readers' thoughts.</li><li>The desire to arrange one's own thoughts.</li><li>Vanity.</li><li>What he calls the Ancient Mariner scenario - the urge to tell someone something.</li></ol>Well, as far as blogging is concerned, money isn't a motive. A few people have made a financial coup from their blogs but I'm sure that 99% or more have no such motive. I think that my reasons would be a mixture of 4 and 6. I suspect that there might be a touch of 5 in my posts about the grandchildren and the things I have made. I shall ponder some more.<br /><br />I would love to know your reasons for writing. What has Mr Jones missed?<br /><br />monixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16631194815411019266noreply@blogger.com9